The surgery instructions were no food after midnight. I went outside with Lily when she did her business to be sure she didn't eat a clod of dirt or something .
For the next couple of hours, I avoided all the dogs, with little success. They kept staring at me, clearly not onboard with the whole not-eating-in-solidarity-with-Lily's-looming-surgery plan.
It was time to leave. Lily and I got into the vehicle. I wouldn't start.
Luckily, The Handsome One was off of work that day so he took us in his truck.
Inside the vet office, an old man was telling a bored looking doctor and receptionist that 16 pills is a lot of pills to take. He glanced at me and added, "for a dog." He maintained eye contact, so I answered, "yes. Sixteen pills is a lot."
Lily weighed in at 68 pounds and we went into a room to do paperwork. Lily seemed delighted to go with the nice vet tech. Interestingly, I was not feeling terribly nervous about the whole major surgery thing. In fact, I was encouraged that maybe, just maybe after a dozen or so spaying adventures, I was calming down about it. Maybe this frazzle free style living could become a habit!
I had to walk past the old man to exit the building. He was telling the doctor who looked about to cry and the receptionist who was violently filing her thumbnail about the time he forget to give his dog her 2 o'clock pill.
Suddenly, he turned to me and said, "your hair looks good."
I thanked him and made for the door.
He added, "it looks like you French kissed a light socket."
"Seriously" he said. "It looks good."
I really thought I was doing OK.